


Fucking At The Farmhouse

by therogueheart



Series: Imported Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Cum Play, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Tony Stark, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Starker, Tumblr Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Tummy Bulging, bulging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 18:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20783309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: Anon on Tumblr asked for Tony fucking Peter at Clint's little hidey-house.Ask and ye will receive.





	Fucking At The Farmhouse

Tony blinked. Once. Twice. Opened his mouth on an inhale, then shut it again. Another few moments of re-calibration, and he leaned to the side a little, eyes never leaving the woman on the porch as he nudged Clint slightly. 

“Are you _sure _she’s not an Agent?” He asked, recoiling at the slap to his bicep as Clint rolled his eyes. 

“She’s my _sister_” he remarked, for the fourth time in as many minutes, abandoning the sad gathering of beaten down, exhausted supersoldiers on his front lawn to hop the porch steps like a spaniel. 

The woman’s smile grew, and they embraced in the way that only those familiar with each other could do. “I thought we spoke about bringing home strays” the woman announced, just the right amount of fond teasing in her voice as she pushed Clint away, observing the hoard at her doorstep. 

Tony gave an affronted sound, arms folding. He was not a _stray_, thank you very much. If anything he was a refined pedigree in some messed up Lady & The Tramp story. Except the Tramp was Steve and his inability to not provoke Bad Guys into attempting to pummel him to death. 

Her eyes locked onto the space to Tony’s left, and that bright grin grew wider. “Steve! How lovely to see you again. I like the new suit. And the new boyfriend”. Tony’s head cocked and he whirled, fixing Steve with his best laser eyes. 

Steve, for his part, had the decency to at least look guilty, shuffling where he leaned heavily against Bucky, who’s nose scrunched. “Wait, what? You knew about this? Et tu, Tall, Dark and Deadly?”. Steve’s ears went that particular shade of pink that screamed guilty, but Bucky met his gaze evenly over the mop of blonde between them, eyes rolling slowly. 

“I’ve been balls-deep in Barton almost as long as I’ve been semi-stable again. Of course I knew” was shot back, voice bland but not without it’s sarcastic bite as the Soldier adjusted his grip on Steve. 

“Wait, what?” Came parroted right from by Tony’s arm and he jerked with a yell of _fuck_! Twisting to find Peter at his side. 

“Little fucking - _Spider monkey_” he hissed, forcing himself to relax. The woman on the porch chuckled and stepped aside, shooing Clint past and towards the door of the large farmhouse that Clint had driven them to. I know a safe place Clint had said. What he hadn’t said, was said safe place was apparently the family farm. 40 odd acres of land with a neat little farm-house smack in the middle, complete with a secret sister that apparently, everyone except him knew about. 

“Please, all of you. Come inside. I didn’t know you were on your way, but I can get a good soup on whilst you all clean up” the woman offered, hand extending towards the doorway Clint had disappeared through. Steve and Bucky were the first to move, hobbling up the porch steps like the world’s most unfortunate set of Siamese twins. 

Peter hovered, glancing up at Tony worriedly before skipping merrily after them, pausing to - of course he was - politely shake her hand and introduce himself. “Hi! My name is Parker. Peter! My name is Peter. But also…Parker. It’s Peter Parker” He babbled, and Tony felt that familiar ache between his temples already beginning to form. 

She didn’t seem phased, however. Taking his hand and introducing herself as _Laura Barton, pleasure to meet you_. And then it was just him, standing distrustfully at the bottom of the steps. 

But Tony Stark did not do awkward or lingering, no matter how battered and dirty, so he flounced up the steps, pausing at her side to give her a careful once-over. “Seriously. Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it. Just admit you’re an Agent” he confided, gaze searching her face. 

For her part, she merely laughed, a bold and bubbly thing that startled him briefly. She reached out, lay a hand to his shoulder and patted gently. “It’s delightful to meet you, Tony” she responded, before ushering him through the door. He was for once left rather at a loss for words as he followed the others in toeing off their shoes, eyes flitting all around what he could see of the house. 

It was, despite it’s rustic outside, rather modern. Peter caught his gaze where he leaned against the wall, fighting valiantly with a sneaker, and beamed. As it was, they were ordered to more or less strip in the doorway, a large wooden box pushed close for their dirtied clothing as Bucky disappeared off upstairs and Clint strode into the kitchen, beginning to pull various vegetables from the generously sized fridge, Laura not far behind in selecting two cutting knives and a board. 

Tony stood in the hallway, arms folded as he watched. Clint and Laura moved like old friends, easy around each other as they talked in voices too low for Tony to catch, bar the odd flit of laughter. Clint would fake a wound each time Laura dug an elbow to his side, and Laura would squirm away each time he retaliated with a tickle. 

“That’s…Is that what families are like? Functioning, healthy families?” Tony asked aloud, discovering upon a blink that the only one still with him was Peter, who was now on the floor, holding his leg aloft and tugging at a lace with his teeth. Peter’s brows pulled in confusion and he glanced back and forth between the Barton duo and Tony a few times, before spitting out the lace. 

“Uh…Yes?” 

“Disgusting”. Tony spun on his heel, marching for the stairs. He had to find out exactly how many bedrooms and bathrooms this place had, because he was not an animal and speaking from experience, Steve would coat himself in soap like it was the answer to life. And a full-scale invasion of the Tower hadn’t exactly left Tony time to pack a wash bag. That and - also speaking from experience - Bucky and Steve had a tendency to ignore all social protocol and fuck at every available opportunity, regardless of who’s couch they were on or with whom they were sharing a sleep space. 

It had gotten considerably worse since Clint entered the equation, and for once, Tony was actually nursing the idea of sleeping. The answer was four, as it turned out. One for Laura, one for the Terrible Trio, and then a choice of the remaining two for Peter and Tony. Steve informed him of this whilst sat unashamedly naked on the edge of the bathtub, one recently reformed assassin tucked up between his calves and diligently poking at his wound with a pair of tweezers. 

Tony spoke largely to the ceiling, because this man had been his childhood hero. He did not need to know that the supersoldier serum extended to _everything_. He chose the larger of the two remaining options and threw his glasses down on the bed, just to stake his claim, before he bounced back down the steps, stopping short to observe the scene before him. 

Laura was pottering around the kitchen, gathering bowl and utensils. Clint was at one of the spacious counters, hacking away at a whole chicken as though it had insulted his masculinity, and at his side, Peter was carefully and dutifully chopping vegetables. 

_Family _his brain supplied, and he mentally bashed it with a hammer, waltzing into the kitchen area to approach his boy from the side. Peter was cutting an onion, and when he sensed Tony’s presence he looked up, smiling brightly and sniffling as twin tears dripped down his face. “We’re making soup!” He announced heartily, and Tony couldn’t beat away the fond smile even if he wanted to. 

“I chose our room for us. Obviously, because I have the better taste in this exciting dynamic. It’s the one across the hall from Steve, Bucky and I-Hid-The-Fact-I-Have-A-Biological-Counterpart” Tony responded cheerfully, and across Peter’s head, Clint pointed at him with a knife. Where she was gathering bowls, Laura paused, eyeing them with an almost unreadable expression. 

“’Our’ room?” She echoed, and Tony immediately rose to the defensive, pressing closer to Peter and shooting her one of his signature _fight me_ looks. 

“Boyfriends do tend to prefer to share a bed” he remarked cooly in response, and she set the bowls down, raising her hand in a surrender. “I just didn’t expect you two to be…A two” she replied simply, before gathering her haul and laying the table once more. When he turned, Peter and Clint were both looking at him, but Tony lifted his chin and eyed the spread of food. 

Soup. The last time he had soup, it was a $212 dollar golden truffle dish from The Sovereign. The last time Peter had soup, it was probably a .45c monstrosity from his local grocer. 

They were working on that, alright? 

As it was, they were both eventually shooed away upstairs, to clean up and change before supper. Tony had to admit - It was a luxury of wearing a suit such as his that he remained clean during battles. Peter, however, was chased straight into the shower. 

Tony obligingly stayed away, knowing there were two sets of super-hearing ears across the hall, and instead took the time to peruse the room. It was obviously a guest room, stocked with products of both the male and female persuasion. The closet was largely full of male clothing, which Tony flicked through distastefully before settling on remaining in his own clothing. 

Peter was lured from the bathroom only by the scent of soup, waddling in a fluffy towel almost as big as him to select a gaudy, pink shirt from the closet and a pair of soft, duckling-printed pyjama bottoms that he ended up having to roll at the ankles. The soup-pot at the centre of the table was ridiculously enormous, but - as it turned out - exactly enough to feed two supersoldiers, one hyper-metabolising teen and three regular humans. 

It was chicken and vegetable, more a stew than a soup but just as fulfilling, and even Tony had to raise a brow in surprise. Laura met his gaze somewhat triumphantly, and raised her spoon to his approval. 

“So. Would anyone like to fill me in on why I have now adopted 3/4′s of the Avengers?” She asked after they had all had time to devour a few spoonfuls, her gaze flitting the table. Immediately, several sets of accusing eyes fell to Steve, who hunkered down as though it made any difference. 

“I insulted the suit choice of an American Mafia leader, who’s son happens to be a self-proclaimed villain named The Annihilator” he mumbled into his spoon, tell-tale pink creeping steadily across his cheeks. Laura, for her part, merely laughed, head shaking as she shoulder-bumped Clint. 

“The pinnacle of American Patriotism that could find a fight in a teddy-bear factory, and an ex-HYDRA assassin who could kill you with a pencil eraser. You sure know how to pick a partner” she teased, dragging Clint into a rather vicious headlock that he didn’t try half as hard to get out of as he could have. 

Supper was a relaxed affair, after that. Peter tucked against Tony’s side, cradling his bowl as though it was his first born and sighing contentedly after every sip. Tony politely declined a second, pushing the refilled bowl over to Peter instead, who gazed up at him with slightly tear-shot eyes, and. Christ. 

Tony was _not _equipped with the knowledge of what to do if his teenage boyfriend begun to cry over chicken-vegetable soup. He settled for looping an arm around Peter’s shoulders, nestling him as close as their individual chairs would allow. Peter’s hair was still drying from the shower, and from the looks of it, was settling into that spiky-curly weird style that reminded Tony of a rather startled porcupine. 

Steve did the washing up and Laura retired to bed early, leaving Clint to dry and Bucky to put away as Peter chatted happily at the table, animatedly re-calling the dramatic moment he didn’t fall out of the 66th window. Eventually, Tony took mercy on the men and herded his boyfriend up the stairs like the world’s most talkative cow. 

The sun was verging on mostly-set by the time Tony sank back against the headboard, rubbing at his temples. He would have so much work to do, when they returned to the Tower. It was on Barn Doors Protocol right now, impenetrable, so nobody had cause to worry. 

But the moron in the home-made Terminator getup had done some relative damage before they’d stopped him. As he reached for his glasses, he was vaguely aware of Peter sauntering around at the bedside, hips swaying in a clumsy pattern. 

“What are you doing” Tony stated, groaning as he perched his glasses back on his nose and eyed Peter, who turned to him with a grin. 

“Seductively presenting myself” he announced, tucking his hands into the pockets of those godforsaken pants. Tony couldn’t help snorting, reaching up to loosen his tie and throw it aside, fiddling with his shirtsleeves. 

“Is it the shirt?” Peter deadpanned in response, although his grin was positively dazzling as he stepped closer to the bed, shimmying those hated pants down his thighs and into a hideous puddle on the carpet. Tony couldn’t help the lazy smile he tossed his boy as Peter climbed the side of the bed, throwing a long, slim leg over his hips and settling comfortably in their dip. 

“Y’know, I think they’re growing on me” he remarked, settling his hands at Peter’s hips. It seemed, when he dipped a pinky finger downwards, that Peter was not wearing any underwear. “Mm, interesting” he purred, hitching Peter closer. The boy went easily, rising up onto his knees to tower over Tony in a way that only he was allowed to, cradling Tony’s head with his arms and kissing his temple. 

“If it’s the shirt, it can always come off” Peter pointed out with a grin, and Tony dropped his hands, swatting at the bubble-butt asscheeks well within his grasp. It took a moment or two for the fact his fingers came back wet to register - he would blame being distracted by Peter - but then he lifted his hand away, gazing curiously at the slick sheen to his palm. 

He raised his gaze to Peter, who was doing his best to present a confident grin. It came off a little too sheepish to work, however, and Tony quirked a brow, waggling his slick-coated fingers at the boy questioningly. In response, Peter grasped his wrist and pulled his hand back around, guiding Tony’s fingertips into dipping between the swell of his asscheeks, where he was very much still wet with lube. 

“Oh, good. I was wondering if we were going to need to talk about bodily functions or kink negotiations” Tony remarked blandly, and Peter huffed at him, deflating for all of a moment before Tony pressed deeper, fingertip brushing the slick, puffy, open little treasure within. He looked up, gaze somewhere between quizzical and adoring. Peter must’ve taken the liberty of opening himself up in the shower. 

Except… “Mm, see. Now I’m just curious as to where you got the lube” Tony murmured, rubbing his finger slowly over the abused little bug of muscle as Peter twitched against him, the sheepish expression morphing into guilt that could rival Steve’s flaming cheeks. 

“I…Might…Always carry some around with me? MJ said always be prepared! And, y’know. At first I took that literally, so I spend every morning…Y’know. But then I told her how awkward and sore it always was and she slapped me and said just the lube. So I always carry lube with me. Now”. It was remarkable that someone could manage to make masturbation and preparation so guilty and non-sexy. 

Tony dropped his head to Peter’s collar, breathing out a half-laugh against the soft shirt fabric there. But Tony had thoroughly made his bed with Peter long ago, and so un-sexy or not, he used his jaw to shimmy the shirt collar down, scraping his stubble over the soft skin beneath. 

“I’m genuinely perplexed as to how you can be so smart, yet so dumb.” He pointed out, withdrawing his hand to instead just grasp handfuls of Peter’s asscheeks, squeezing gently. Peter’s breath became shaky as he pressed forwards, cock firm against Tony’s sternum. For that, Tony slapped his ass lightly, the barest of swats that made Peter almost giggle. 

“You _did _think about the fact we’re in a confined space, amongst other super-hearing people?” Tony asked after a pause to relish in the way Peter’s skin was hot under his touch. Peter, for all his superhero abilities and that trim, lithely worked little body, marked like a peach. Peter’s healing abilities were twice that of a regular human, but marks still lasted days and broken bones still lasted weeks. 

“I did” Peter responded rather indignantly, shimmying back down Tony’s body in order to sit at his thighs, flushed and happy. It becomes blatantly apparent that Peter had considered it. He just didn’t _care_, much like Tony had never been one to care about what other people saw. 

“You almost don’t die from not falling out of a window, end up on the run and hiding out at Barton’s secret family farmhouse for Wayward Avengers, and the first thing you think of doing is getting stuffed?” He asked after a moment in a casual, unaccusing drawl. 

Peter goes red from his cheekbones to his collar, head ducking a little. “You looked really hot fighting bad guys in a suit?” Peter tried, peeking across at Tony as he shuffled nervously, an act more akin to grinding than awkward fidgeting. Tony squeezed again, a guiding pressure to encourage the act, because he was nothing if not an enabler. 

Peter obligingly shifted his hips down, a lazy press that folded the slightly too big shit to reveal the outline of his cock, hidden and swollen and leaving a light smear in its path. Tony is also nothing if not greedy, and the brief insight into what could follow is all it takes for him to wrap his arms around Peter, gathering his legs in order to surge forwards and body-toss the boy backwards onto the thick comforter. 

The bed is a large double, as artfully plain as the rest of the room. More than enough room to use his knee to spread Peter’s thighs, arms briefly cradling him before withdrawing. “I like this” Peter admitted, hands moving to helpfully un-do Tony’s belt as he sat upright, beginning on the buttons of his shirt. 

Tony quirked a brow in response curiously, watching Peter, who was staring furiously at the task at hand. “This place, I mean. The…Vibe of it, y’know? It’s peaceful. Cosy. Home-y”. Tony let his head tip, a thoughtful sound low on the back of his tongue as he paused. Peter had a home. 

Two, in fact. But he supposed that Peter was right. Now that he thought about it, there was something so incredibly and subtly relaxing about a quiet, quaint little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The warm sensation of safe, home, family. Almost like a vacation, but without the pressing reminder that it was temporary. 

“The view _is _sensational” he agreed, grin sly as he reached down to push Peter’s shirt up with his palm, exposing the slim line of his flushed, rosy dick, nestled snug at his navel by the bend of his stomach. Peter gave a sound akin to a squeak, flushing as he squirmed to cover himself. 

He was still in that awkward phase of not-quite-self-secure, although he had no shame in wandering around in hideous duckling pants. Tony tossed his clothing aside as he stripped, momentarily moving off the bed in order to take care of his pants. As he shucked them down he leaned over, swatting the inside of Peter’s thigh sharply. 

“On your belly, like a good boy” he instructed, watched the tremble in Peter’s lip as the boy obliged, gracelessly rolling over, all tangling limbs and face-planting the sheets before he settled into almost kneeling, legs tucked neatly and spine arched. 

The glisten of lube on the fat curve of his asscheeks was enough to spur Tony on, carelessly tossing his clothing away and wrapping a hand around himself briefly, thumb gliding over the throbbing head in a short chase of relief before he crawled onto the bedding behind Peter, parting his thighs once more. Peter’s hole was a little puffy, a little dark, but it was clear that all the boy had done was stretch himself open enough. 

An approving hum, and Tony ran his hands down Peter’s thighs, soothing over the red mark of his slap before he grasped those trim hips, hauling Peter’s lower half up off the bedding further, until the boy was arched and presenting, like a bitch in heat. It spread his cheeks slightly, and Tony wasted no time in pressing two fingers together, a hand on the small of Peter’s back as he drove them in without warning. 

Peter’s body gave willingly, Tony’s fingers sinking to the last knuckle, enveloped by a hot, velvety warmth. The slick, sloppy slide of plush skin and too-much lube had Tony licking at his lips like a dog shown a steak, pressing further before crooking his fingers, just barely seeking that push-button for pleasure that had Peter jolting up the duvet, hands clenching in the soft grey cover with a startled gasp. 

There’s enough sloppy give that all Tony really had to do was scissor his fingers a few times for his own peace of mind, wiping them off on the straining expanse of his cock as additional slick before he slapped Peter’s ass again, a gentle warning of what was to come. In response Peter simply whined, high and keening as he pushed his ass up higher, cheek nuzzling into the comforter. 

“Was it me fighting stylishly, or the idea of me and you in a cosy little hideaway like this that really got you going, darling?” Tony asked, voice sultry and soft as he pressed into the silky grasp of Peter’s body. They exhaled as one, Peter’s hips nudging backwards to encourage Tony into the plush depth of his body. Peter was a small thing, lithe and petite in contrast to Tony’s build. 

“Use your words, sweetheart” he coaxed, when the only response was a drawn-out, blissful sigh, Peter arching higher and pushing back against his body until Tony was flush to his balls. Peter’s body squeezed at him, as though trying to bury him deeper. Tony leaned forwards a little, allowing Peter’s body to take some of his weight as he reached down, pressing at the boy’s tummy. 

On his next shaky exhale, the vague stretch was easily felt. “D-Daddy. Both. Both. Love it. Love you” Peter replied, words muffled by the blanket he had buried his face into, hands fisting in the sheets at his head. Tony stayed still for a short breather. Trusting though he was in Peter’s self-stretching, he was often loathe to hurt his boy in a way that wasn’t deliberate. 

“Please move, Tony. _Please_, Daddy. Fuck me” Peter whispered after a moment, as the tweet of birdsong begun to die around them. The sun was deep into setting, and cast a golden, rich glow into the room from the large windows. It bathed Peter like an angel, giving him the softest of glows. Tony wanted to kiss and lick his way across that soft, delicate skin. 

He caved for a brief moment, folding over Peter and squeezing their bodies together as he peppered a few light, wet kisses along his shoulderblades. The satisfied murmur in response tingled down his spine, and then he shifted, grasped a handful of ass and a handful of bedding and drew his hips back to snap them forwards, jolting the air from Peter’s lungs. 

“I seem to recall mentioning that there’s other people around. Other enhanced hearing people. It would be a _real _shame if we had to stop because you couldn’t control yourself” Tony breathed out harshly as he slammed forwards once more, forcing into the deep, liquid-like grip of Peter’s body. The boy gave a pathetic mewl in response, head turning to gasp for air. 

Tony shifted his bracing hand to Peter’s head, pressing it down into the covers. “Did you think about this in the shower, baby? Mm? Daddy fucking you in our own little house? Pounding you into sheets we chose ourselves?” He asked, head tilting and smile sharp as he punctuated his words with short, brutal snaps of his hips. 

Peter’s little body jolted beneath him, rocked with the force of his movements. It should have been ridiculous, dirty-talking about household items and the domestic life. But the more Tony thought about it, the more he supposed he could understand. The Tower was his domain, his fortress. 

His home. But at the same time, it was largely a reflection of his presence as Tony Stark, CEO and Iron Man, Superhero. It wasn’t the cosy, domestic sort of place people imagined when they considered settling down. Perhaps some real estate investigation, when they returned. 

“Tell me, honey” He cooed, soft in contrast to the way he let go of Peter’s head and braced at the small of his back, brutally pounding forwards. All concern for Peter’s delicacy was gone, The velvety embrace of his body was impossible to resist, milking his cock with each dragging thrust. 

“W-Wanna come home to you. A-After classes. Wanna have a p-porch and ugly b-bed sheets. Wanna fuck in the kitchen and g-grocery shop together” Peter stammered out, body trembling and twitching like it didn’t know how to cope with the pace Tony set, scrabbling at the sheets for grip. 

And it shouldn’t have been sexy. It should be the worst, weirdest dirty talk he’d ever heard. And yet. He kept one hand on the dip of Peter’s spine to stop his body moving away, and slid the other beneath their bodies, ignoring the drooling cock at Peter’s leg to press firmly at his stomach, where the muscles were forced to distend around the intrusion of his length, bulging slightly upon each gut-deep thrust. It was a novelty of Peter’s small, slim form that Tony would never tire of. Peter was panting beneath him, a jagged and wrecked moan breaking from his throat as Tony applied pressure to the swollen little rise of his tummy. 

He could feel himself, buried there. Could feel the vibrations of the sobbing cry that Peter gave, as quiet as he was able. Could feel the brush of wet slick when Peter’s cock jolted, scraping his hand. 

He ignored it in favour of pressing against, feeling Peter’s body contorting around him as Tony shifted his weight backwards a little, wrapping an arm around Peter’s hips and one around his chest in order to haul him up, onto his knees, back pressed against Tony’s chest as the older man leaned back on his haunches. Tony supported his weight easily, relishing in the feeling of sinking deeper into Peter’s body. 

Peter’s small frame was heaving against his own as Tony cradled him close, and after a moment of breathing he shifted them both carefully, until they were facing the window. It overlooked the front stretch of grassland, interrupted only by a thin dirt trail that led into the forest and towards a nearby town. 

The sun was low and it cast the same rich, red-gold glow over the landscape. It was idyllic, and the only things Tony loathed about this was that they were here because they were hiding, and the house was full of other people. 

“This is what you want, sweetheart? You wanna be Daddy’s little home-tied _slut_?” Tony murmured, low into Peter’s ear as he slid the hand on his chest up, closing it around Peter’s throat. Only enough to make the boy wheeze, thumb pressed firm against his pulse point. He could feel each softly strained breath, Peter’s hair tickling his cheek. 

“Want Daddy to make you a good little house bitch?” He asked, tightening his grip as he rolled his hips slowly, grinding into the welcoming, trembling embrace. Peter was whining in between pants, a weak and jagged sound over each luxurious grind. His hips twitched in short attempts at pulling Tony closer, deeper. 

Peter’s shaking hands reached back, settling on Tony’s thighs. “Tell me, darling” he instructed, sweet and soft into Peter’s jaw where he pressed wet, lazy kisses. Peter let out a high moan, hips shuddering back against Tony’s as his cock stroked a slow, hard pace over his sweet spot. 

The friction was slow, hot torture for both of them; too good to stop but not enough to cum. “P-please, Daddy. S’too good. Not _enough_. I can’t - I can’t _cum_. I wanna feel you filling me up” Peter rasped, a bare whisper against the pressure on his throat. Tony could feel the weak vibrations of it. He squeezed a little harder, just to hear the choked off sound Peter gave. 

“Shh, baby. Be quiet, now. You don’t want to stop because the others wake up, hm? Wouldn’t want them to walk in and _see _you like this. Tummy all stretched and pushed out by my cock. Begging me to let you cum like the dirty, trained little cockwhore you are” Tony teased gently, teeth scraping the soft curve of Peter’s jaw. 

The low vibration of an aborted, silent sound thrummed against his hand. He let go, relishing in the desperate gasp of air. The half-cry that Peter muffled of his own accord by turning his face into Tony’s neck. The way Peter’s lips dragged hazily over his skin, slow and wet. 

Tony shifted, pressing agile fingers along the sliding bulge of himself. It was a luxury he would never tire of, looking over Peter’s shoulder and down his chest to see his stomach contorting slightly, up and down. 

He watched it for a while, lost in the slow haze of pleasure. Of listening to Peter’s hitching sobs. Then he shifted once more, squeezing his throat tightly and using it to force his boy down, back onto the covers and face down. 

He went with him, loathe to be pulled from the plush warmth that gripped his cock like it agreed. Tony could feel the pleasure building to a point of no return, so he pressed closer, lifting Peter until they were both on their hands and knees.

He resumed his grip, burying his groan of pleasure in the space between Peter’s shoulders. The thick, close drag of his cock was almost too much and he tightened his hold, allowing himself to break his control and slam forwards. Peter jolted forwards with a shaky howl, tugging at the comforter as Tony moved his other hand to brace himself, throwing deep, hard thrusts. 

He sank into Peter’s body at a brutal pace, torturing the soft little nub buried within and punching loud, rasped sounds from the boy. “Cum for me then, sweetheart. Show Daddy how much you want this” he growled, breathless and low. “_Cum for Daddy_, baby. Come on. Mess those sheets, you needy little whore”. Six more thrusts, deep and forceful and Peter was trembling beneath him, a hoarse scream ripping from his throat as he came untouched. 

Tony almost shifted his grip, to cover his mouth instead, but Peter’s body was squeezing around him, coaxing him into it and he followed shortly after, his own breathless gasps for air drowned by a deep, low moan. He could feel himself, pulsing with Peter, his cum coating the soft, velvety skin. Could feel himself stuffing his boy full. Peter’s cry tapered off into a short whine as he took his hand away, bracing it on the covers for balance. 

They stayed like that for a few short breaths, bodies heaving together as they caught their breath. “I’ll make it happen one day, baby” Tony promised in a whisper, reaching up to brush at Peter’s cheeks gently. Sleep came easy to them, afterwards. Curled around each other in a tangle of limbs. 

Tony was the first to wake of the two, dawn peeking through the windows, and he left the bed carefully so as to allow Peter a lay in, shuffling from the room in search of coffee. Steve was already there, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug. 

Two others were lined up, but when Steve saw him gingerly picking his way down the stairwell he flicked open a cupboard and grabbed a third. “That store down on the main district has these really soft, silk sheets, y’know” Steve remarked in greeting, taking a sip from his mug as he begun to pour the others. 

Tony grunted in response, lifting a brow in questioning. Sheets were not usually the normal talk the day after a battle. It was only several sips into his coffee, when the caffeine hit his brain, that he caught up.

Ah._ Supersoldier hearing._


End file.
